


Beshkel

by DestinysWindow



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, HRBB14, Hobbit Reverse Big Bang, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mix of book and movie canon, and crying, bad khuzdul, brief discussion of hypothetical drug addiction, discussion of feels while high on painkillers, medical gore, more to come as I remember them, non explicit descriptions of medical procedures, there's a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinysWindow/pseuds/DestinysWindow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the Battle of the Five Armies, Dwalin finds himself dealing with the emotional fallout of the Company's gold sickness while wondering if Bilbo will still want to pursue a relationship with the dwarf when he wakes up from his coma. </p><p>If he wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beshkel

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for Panda and Ewe's Hobbit Reverse Big Bang based off of Redren5's prompt for a coma AU. Here is the original [prompt](http://redren5.tumblr.com/post/94560448260/bilbo-received-a-concussion-in-the-battle-of-the). It turned out a lot different than I had originally planned (a quick little 5k fic about the company's reactions to Bilbo being in a coma turned into a 52k monster angst fest...oops) but this was so much fun to write and Panda and Ewe have been great mods. I hope they have time to run something similar again later in 2015. Also a huge thank you to Syncronyshattered for putting up with my horrible NaNoWriMo draft and leaving such helpful comments on it. I promised it would be better after some editing and I hope I delivered. 
> 
> If you come across anything that I should have a tag for, please let me know and I'll add it ASAP.

Dwalin had lost track of time among the carnage of the battle field. He wasn’t even sure what the time had been when the fighting had started. All he could properly remember was Thorin’s rally cry behind the wall, calling them all to follow him once again into battle. And Dwalin had followed his King out of the mountain, charging into the enemy ranks hot on his leader’s heals, as he had so many times before. He and Thorin were _Naddul’umrakh_ ; he was _marakhal_ to Thorin’s _mamarkhun_ and next to Thorin in battle was where he belonged. 

Except that somewhere in the confusion, when their charge had broken upon the Orcish lines, Dwalin had been separated from his King. He could see Thorin, just ahead of him, his black leathers already stained darker with Orc blood and his shield and sword glinting as he moved from one enemy to the next. With a battle cry, Dwalin slashed his way through Orcs and Wargs; the _id-daman’uzghul_ pushing away the awareness of sore muscles and a burning wrist and thigh until the only thing left to focus on was the next opponent and Thorin. Thorin couldn’t have been more than 20 paces away but there might as well have been an entire sea between him and Dwalin, there were so many Orcs and Wargs. For every one Dwalin cut down a half dozen took its place and the distance to Thorin grew. A glancing blow to the head that had blood pouring down Dwalin’s face reminded him that he couldn’t afford to split his attention and he returned his focus to his own fights. 

Other members of the Company would slide in and out of his line of sight as he moved from one enemy to the next. Nori had danced between Dwalin and an orc that the bald-headed warrior hadn’t seen at his side, the thief’s knives flashing as they slipped between armor, his mace forgotten somewhere on the battle field. At one point there had been a shout, high and pained, from somewhere behind Dwalin and Bofur had run by, swinging his mattock and yelling for his brother. During a brief pause in fighting, when he had been able to breathe and center himself for just a moment, the old warrior had caught sight of the backs of Fili and Kili as they broke through the circle surrounding Thorin to flank his sides before the Orcs realized that Dwalin wasn’t under attack and blocked his view. 

And the battle continued on that way, moving from one orc to the next until it almost became monotonous. Yet the combined forces of the Dwarrows, Men and Elves never seemed to make any headway against the army of Orcs and Wargs. It was starting to look as if this was going to be another slaughter that their people would sing laments about in the years to come. Dwalin could tell the allies around him were beginning to despair when a ripple went through the orcs, their attention drawn elsewhere. The earthshaking roar of Beorn distracted Dwalin for only a moment and a quick glance told him that the skin-changer was barreling his way through the horde, swatting Orcs and Wargs to the side like a child would knock over his toy soldiers. Beorn fell upon the circle surrounding Erebor’s Royalty with a vengeance, a contingent of Dwarrows following close behind in the bear’s wake, and finally broke apart the wall of enemies that had cut Thorin off from the rest of the Company. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dwalin caught a flash of gold being lifted onto Beorn’s back by several Dwarrow along with two other, darker figures. The bear loped away from the battle field with several Dwarrow running beside him, holding three unmoving bodies on his back and realization struck Dwalin like a hammer blow to the chest. Fili's blonde hair, dimmed by blood and mud, caught the weak grey light that managed to penetrate the cloud cover and he knew that the three being carried away were Thorin, Fili and Kili; his king and princes. In the vacuum left by Beorn, Dwalin could see an unmoving white form and a fierce satisfaction spread through his veins, carried along by the _id-daman’uzghul_. Thorin may have fallen, and his nephews with him, but at least he took that cursed Orc with him too. The Orcs closest to their fallen leader stared at him, at a loss as to what they were supposed to do now. It was like the old Mannish saying Dwalin had heard during his travels; “Cut off the head and the body will die”. That must have been what distracted the Orcs moments ago. 

 

In his distraction over the Royal line of Durin, Dwalin nearly missed his next target, nearly ended up on the wrong end of the dirty Orcish blade. His next ax swing struck true though, cleaving into his enemy's ribcage and leaving a gaping hole. He did not look long, just as he did not spare more thought than a quick prayer to Mahal required for Thorin, Fili and Kili. He would have to give the battle his full attention if he did not want to end up like the Royal Family and he fell back into the battle rage, losing track of almost everything around him except for the next target. News of Azog’s death spread across the battle field quickly and suddenly it wasn’t just the Orcs closest to where the vile creature had fallen that were without purpose. The whole army hesitated to attack and looked to one another for direction, leaving themselves open to the Men, Elves and Dwarrows who set upon them with a renewed vigour. The weaker Wargs and Orcs fled, overcome with terror.

Bolg attempted to rally what was left, to make one last desperate charge, only to be cut down by Dain just as the Great Eagles arrived to pluck Orcs and Wargs from the ground and dash them against the sides of the mountain or to gore with their talons and beaks. Dwalin had the humorless thought that he wasn't going to be the one to clean those carcasses off the mountain side when this was all over. 

With the death of their last leader figure and the arrival of the Eagles, the rest of the Orcs and Wargs fled the valley, only to be run down by the Dwarrows who had managed to hold on to their goat mounts and the Eagles. Dwalin gave chase to those closest, cutting them down before charging to the next but left the rest those who were quicker when he was outpaced. He knew that in the coming days there would be patrols and hunting parties organized to flush the survivors from the surrounding hills if they didn’t make it to the mountains in time. But now, with the enemy fleeing, the warrior allowed himself to lower his ax and - not relax, no, he’d never be able to relax on a battle field such as this - but to just…breathe; to inhale deeply despite the sharp smell of blood and cold that rankled his nose and let it out in a long sigh. He squeezed his eyes closed and breathed again, trying not to think of Thorin, motionless on Beorn’s back and probably dying in a hastily erected healers tent as Dwalin stood there. 

He only allowed himself a moment, just enough to fill his lungs and calm his heartbeat to ease the _id-daman’uzghul_. Just long enough for cries of another sort to begin to fill the air, for the part of war that never made it into song; the cries of the dying and those left behind. Dwalin has had heard it before, been among the ones to cry out in grief. He moved across the valley, helping where he was needed, but he conducted his own search as many others were. He knew where his King and Princes were and could guess what state they were in but there was nothing more he could do in regards to that duty. But after his duty to the Durin Royal line, he had a duty as a brother and he scoured the area for snow white hair. His dominant wrist throbbed, burning hot, as he searched for Balin but Dwalin ignored it, refused to loosen his grip on his ax in case a ‘dead’ enemy turned out to be not quite dead. 

Dwalin’s methodical searching slowly turned to panic. He had only been searching those standing and moving about the valley, a refusal to accept that his brother might have fallen, but he found his gaze pulled to the bodies littering the ground the longer it took. He was about to start rolling bodies, to make sure that he hadn’t somehow missed Balin in the carnage, when he heard a shout from behind him. Stumbling from weakened and exhausted muscles, Dwalin turned to the sound to find Balin limping toward him. The warrior sighed, a small piece of the anxious and worry filled knot in his chest easing just a bit at the sight of his older brother. Dwalin hurried across the remaining distance as fast as he could while still being cautious of where he stepped and swept Balin up into a bone crushing hug, fingers digging into and clutching at the older dwarf’s clothing, his armor already removed. Balin returned the embrace just as fiercely for a moment longer than he normally would have before pulling back just far enough to look over his younger brother but not leaving his arms completely. 

He tutted and rubbed at the dried blood on the side of Dwalin’s head, trying to find the source. 

“C’mere, let me see how bad that is,” he said, pulling Dwalin’s head down so he could see the scabbed over cut on the dome of his skull. “What have I told you about head butting without a helmet?”

Dwalin let his lips twitch at the comment, suddenly too tired to protest being treated like a dwarfling again. “Wasn’t head butting,” he grumbled. “Orc missed.”

Balin stilled at the implication, his hands clenching at Dwalin’s head. Dwalin sighed and pressed his forehead to Balin’s, leaning heavily into the shorter Dwarf. 

“We’re alive,” Dwalin murmured, squeezing Balin’s arms. 

The white haired Dwarf’s breath gusted across Dwalin’s face and he felt his brother go slack. “Yes, we are.” 

The two brothers stood there, taking comfort in one another for longer than they could tell. Eventually, though Balin pulled away from Dwalin completely. 

“C’mon, we’ll get Oin to look at you and find somewhere to sleep, you look terrible.” Balin took him by the elbow and pulled him along toward Erebor’s entrance gate. Dwalin followed along without resistance and for the first time, really took stock of his surroundings. Before he’d been too focused on killing Orcs and Wargs, then on finding a familiar face among all the unfamiliar ones. Now he noticed that it had gotten dark at some point in his search for Balin…or had that been while he and Balin had been standing together? Had the battle been this day or the one before? Dwalin’s distorted sense of time made it hard for him to organize events in his head. A whole of his memory of the Company’s time in Erebor was fuzzy or completely missing in some cases. He wasn’t even sure what the date was, something he had been meticulous about keeping track of since Rivendell to make sure they were on schedule. 

Dwalin spent the slow trek down the valley lost in the fog of his memories, trying to make sense of the last few weeks. It wasn’t until he found himself surrounded by canvas structures that he realized they had reached the base of the mountain. There was no discernable layout that Dwalin could tell as they walked along crooked rows and often had to jog over to another row when their’s suddenly dead ended. Most likely they had all been put up by the untrained Laketown refugees where ever they could find space, branching out from the healer tents closest to the gates and furthest from the fighting. Balin directed Dwalin to one of the larger tents, holding back the flap and ushering him in before following. 

The tent was filled with other patients, mostly Dwarrows, all in what appeared to be serious condition and in various states of drugged oblivion. Dwarven Healers and assistants bustled about, tending to patients or restocking the crates of supplies. Balin pushed Dwalin down onto an empty cot and called for Oin. The healer was on the other side of the tent, bent over a table made of boards set across two stacks of crates with his back to them and his ear trumpet placed to the side. A Mannish lass, brought up from the refugee camp on the lake to be a nursemaid, tapped Oin on the shoulder and pointed to where Balin and Dwalin were. The dwarf turned to see where she was pointing and straightened at the sight of his older cousins, putting the mortar and pestle in his hands down and picking up his ear trumpet before moving over to them. 

“What did I say?” Oin huffed as he patted Balin on the shoulder. “Out on the field still, wasn’t he? Told you not to worry.” 

Balin shrugged with a small smile. “You act as though you didn’t work yourself into a state until Nori finally dragged Gloin in here,” he said. 

“Ach, at least Dwalin is more level headed than my hot headed brother,” the hearing impaired healer groused. “Alright, let’s get you out of this armor while you tell me what injuries you have and don’t skip anything,” Oin said, reaching for the buckles and toggles that strapped Dwalin’s leathers to him. Balin did the same on the other side and together the two helped Dwalin strip down to his shirt and trousers while he listed anything and everything that hurt. It was a surprisingly short list; only a hurt wrist, a pain in his leg, the cut on his head and a general ache in his muscles. 

Oin sent Balin after a bowl of hot water and a clean rag while he poked at the various rips in Dwalin’s clothing. "When was the last time you slept lad?" Dwalin's eyebrows drew together and fell low over his eyes as the tattooed warrior looked away. Oin nodded. "Thought so. The gold sickness has left us all a bit fuzzy." Dwalin flinched at the term but the healer didn’t catch it since he was busy getting the attention of a passing assistant and sent them off for drinking water and food. Balin returned with the cloth and hot water and Oin set to scrub away the blood from the side of Dwalin’s head and skull so the healer could get a better look at the wound. 

“Just a flesh wound,” Oin announced. “Nothing to worry about. I’ll just wrap it to prevent infection.” He smeared his own special made ‘ointment’ over the cut before wrapping a clean linen over Dwalin’s head and under his chin to keep it clean and dry. 

The pain in Dwalin’s leg, turned out to be a nasty looking gash that required stitches once it was cleaned. Balin hovered at his younger brother’s side, a comforting hand placed on his shoulder, squeezing whenever Dwalin flinched at the feel of a needle sliding through his skin. When Oin done the wound treated the same as his head, covered in medicine and tightly wrapped. The bald Dwarf hissed when Oin ran his fingers over his still throbbing wrist, feeling the bones and twisting the hand this way and that. 

“A sprain, it feels like,” Oin said and Dwalin felt Balin sigh behind him. “I’ll just wrap it up and you’ll have to go easy on it for a few weeks.”  
A young Dwarf entered he tent with a bowl and tankard while Oin wrapped more linen around Dwalin’s wrist to limit its movement. He got a cuff on the head from Balin when he was caught testing the mobility when Oin was done.  
“Here.” Oin shoved the bowl of what looked like a thin soup into his hands. “Eat, drink, and then Balin will show you where the Company have set themselves up so you can get some sleep,” he ordered before going back to the other side of the tent to return to whatever he had been doing before Balin and Dwalin had arrived. 

Dwalin sipped at his soup straight from the bowl, relishing in the warmth of it and resisted the temptation to guzzle it down. He wasn’t so successful with the water though when he had finished the soup. Balin nudged him in the shoulder, reminded him to slow down before he got sick. The younger Dwarf was reminded of a childhood spent mostly in Balin’s care while their parents worked whatever jobs they could find to put food in their bellies and being told repeatedly to eat slower to stretch the food further. And then he remembered that they had Erebor now. No dwarfling of Durin’s Folk would have to go through that again and that was a relief he had thought he would never feel. The realization left him breathless for a moment. The Company had spent all that time among the gold, under the mountain and it had only just occurred to him what that actually _meant_ for the refugees of Erebor. 

Balin moved around to Dwalin’s front, taking the tankard from his hands with a knowing look and setting it to the side. 

“Here, let’s go see if the others have left us a place to sleep,” he said, tugging gently at Dwalin’s arm to get him on his feet and moving. 

Outside, the sky was starting to lighten into the pale grey of pre-dawn and Dwalin felt weary to his bones as he trudged through the tent city behind his brother. He watched his feet, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other through his exhaustion. Balin’s limp caught his attention again and he frowned. 

“Have you had that looked at?” Dwalin asked, nodding to Balin’s leg when his brother turned to look at him. 

“It’s just the old knee acting up,” Balin reassured him. “You know how those old wounds can be. There’s no need to bother Oin over it.”

Yes, Dwalin knew how old wounds could be, but if he remembered correctly – and he highly doubted that he was wrong- it had been the _other_ knee that Balin had injured in that ambush decades ago. He also knew how Balin could be when it came to going to a healer. His brother would refuse to see a healer for anything less than life threatening, unless Dwalin somehow managed to corner him in a room with Oin. It was a mark though, at how tired Balin must be as well if he thought Dwalin wouldn’t spot such an obvious lie. He would find a way to make sure Balin was seen to later though; he was in no shape to out maneuver his brother right then, especially since they had arrived at their destination and Dwalin had nothing more on his mind that a good sleep to relax his aching body. 

The tent the Company had claimed as theirs wasn’t as far from the healer tents as Dwalin thought it would have been. It wasn’t as big as the one they had just come from either, but it was bigger than the majority of the tents around and Dwalin suspected that someone important in Dain’s army had been forced to give up their own status symbol and bunk with another Dwarf. The inside was dimly lit by the embers of the braziers in the center of the tent and positioned around the heat source were several members of the Company, arranged much the same as they had during the quest when they would all bed down around a camp fire. Balin directed Dwalin to an empty pile of blankets before claiming a nearby spot for himself. 

It took Dwalin a moment of tossing and turning to find a comfortable position and even when he had, he didn’t fall asleep immediately. He had to ask Balin one last question before he could allow himself to sleep. 

“Balin?” 

“Hm?” Balin hummed sleepily, not stirring from his position. 

“How are Thorin and Fili and Kili?” 

There was no immediate answer and Dwalin wondering if Balin had fallen asleep until there was a quiet sigh. 

“Alive, for now.” 

_Alive, for now._ Dwalin supposed that was the best answer he could ask for considering everything. He would have to go see them, when he woke up, to check for himself that they still lived. But for now sleep was calling him, and he went willingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Beshkel: Bone of all bones  
> Naddul’umrakh: shield brother (Naddul: brother-like, 'umrakh: greater shield)  
> marakhal: he that is a shielder  
> mamarkhun: he that is shielded  
> id-daman’uzghul: battle blood (id-daman: the blood (plural), 'uzghul: battle-like)
> 
> I am in no way a linguist and languages tend to go over my head. So if you see anything wrong with my use of Khuzdul, please feel free to correct me.


End file.
